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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29383656">Taxi Squad</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight'>inlovewithnight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Detroit Red Wings, M/M, gordie howe hat trick, taxi squad life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:22:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29383656</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mathias and Givani are living the taxi squad life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mathias Bromé/Givani Smith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Taxi Squad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set around the Wings/Pathers game where Givani got his Gordie Howe hat trick. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mathias calls from down the hall, using the hotel room phones like an old man. “Taxi bro!”</p>
<p>“I told you, nobody calls,” Givani says, grinning as he flops back on the bed. “Text me, FaceTime me, don’t <em>call</em> me. Are you all a hundred years old in Sweden?”</p>
<p>“I know, I know, my phone is charging.” Mathias brushes it all aside, like he does with everything. Off the ice, it takes a lot to get Mathias worked up. “Just wondered if you knew we were called up again.”</p>
<p>“I get the same messages you do, Bromer.” It’s a call from somebody in the GM’s office, every time—Givani doesn’t give them shit about calling on the phone, of course. GMs have to do stuff like that. And anyway, even hinting that Mr. Yzerman is an old man would get Givani run out of Detroit and all the way back to Toronto. Mr. Yzerman talked to them in person at the beginning of the season, making his thinking and expectations around the taxi squad clear, but right now the calls all come from one of the polite, robot-like assistants. </p>
<p>Which is fine with Givani. Talking to Steve Yzerman every couple of days while he’s bouncing up and down the roster would stress him out.</p>
<p>“That means today is a payday,” Mathias says in a singsong voice. </p>
<p>Being on two-way contracts means that the days they’re on taxi, they get paid the AHL rate, and the days they’re called up to roster, the NHL rate. Game days are paydays. They both know they should stash it all away, but it feels good to splurge.</p>
<p>“Hell yeah it is,” Givani answers, swinging his feet in slow arcs. “How should we celebrate?”</p>
<p>“Order something fancy online.” They laugh together about it; after all, they’re not allowed to <em>go</em> anywhere with the protocols, not even to get food from somewhere nice outside the hotel. Forget sneaking down to Miami for some shopping.</p>
<p>“I think this time I will get shoes,” Mathias says. “I’ve had my eye on some. Italian leather.”</p>
<p>“Shoes are good. I’m not sure what I want yet.” He already got himself a PS5, and one for Gemel, too, who laughed at him and told him to fuck off (but kept it). </p>
<p>“More of the fancy suits. You look good in the fancy suits, taxi bro.”</p>
<p>Givani laughs, trying to ignore the warm feeling he gets in his chest when Mathias says things like that. “You don’t have to call me that every time, Bromer.”</p>
<p>“I like it. It’s our little club.” It’s true, they’re the two going up and down most consistently at the moment. “What else would I call you, anyway?”</p>
<p>The rest of the team calls him Smitty, but he gives in to that warm feeling and its impulses just for once. “Givani, man. That’s my name.”</p>
<p>“Givani.” He makes a point of not getting weird about accents, but his name sounds nice in Mathias’ Swedish one, he can’t lie. “Okay, I’ll call you that sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” He sighs and glances at the clock on the bedside table. “I’m gonna do my nap. See you downstairs when we head over to the arena?”</p>
<p>“Where else would I be?” Mathias laughs softly. “Sleep well.”</p>
<p>“You too.” Givani hangs up the phone and stretches his arms and legs out slowly, focusing on his breath instead of any sneaky little thoughts that might be buzzing around in his head where they don’t belong. Making him too warm. Making him forget where the boundaries are.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Mathias is waiting for the elevator when Givani steps out of his room. They wave to each other down the length of the hall, and Mathias holds the car for him, smiling so obviously that Givani can see it around his mask.</p>
<p>“No rush, no rush,” Mathias says when Givani jog-steps the last few meters to the elevator. “Bus call isn’t for ten minutes. We’re both doing well today.”</p>
<p>“Taxi squad can’t be late.” They step on the elevator together and Givani tilts his head back, rolling his neck back and forth. </p>
<p>“Taxi bros are always on time.” Mathias taps the button for the lobby and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Have to be if we want to stay taxi, right? If we’re late they’ll send us back to… what is it, again?”</p>
<p>“Grand Rapids.” Givani is so goddamn tired of Grand Rapids. He will give a lot to not have to go back there, and not just because of the NHL having more prestige and better money. Half the town is named after various people from the DeVos family. Give him Detroit any day. “The Griffins.”</p>
<p>“Right, right. Not what we want.”</p>
<p>They might <em>not</em> get bounced down, honestly; there aren’t a whole lot of people on the Griffins who are ready to take a shot at the show, honestly. Givani would never say that to their faces, but, well. Not on the level to take a shot at the Red Wings roster <em>now</em> is… well. It’s something.</p>
<p>They ride the rest of the way in silence, Mathias falling into step at Givani’s side when they make their way across the lobby to where some of the other guys are waiting. They exchange nods, but there isn’t much to chat about. Larks is talking quietly to Ryan, and Z has his phone out, singing along softly to Czech TikTok or something. The coaches aren’t there yet. It’s quiet.</p>
<p>Mathias bumps Givani’s shoulder with his own. “I have a good feeling about tonight,” he says, keeping his voice low so it won’t catch the attention of the others. </p>
<p>“Yeah?” Givani raises an eyebrow at him. “For me or for you?”</p>
<p>“Both, I think. But mostly for you.” Mathias grins behind his mask, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “You’re going to have a good game.”</p>
<p>“Is that a promise?” Givani grins back and shakes his head. “Are you psychic, Bromer?”</p>
<p>“I just have a feeling, that’s all!”</p>
<p>“A feeling.” Givani shakes his head and leans back against the wall as the rest of the team and the coaches start filing into the lobby. “That and five dollars will get me a cup of coffee.”</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Givani gets a Gordie Howe that night.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know what that means, as Helene from the Free Press gleefully makes clear in the Zoom conference. Givani can take a little mocking, though. He’s got a puck commemorating the game, congratulations from his teammates, and a one-on-one talk with Blash about how he likes what he’s been seeing and wants Givani to keep up the good work.</p>
<p>Givani doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s not stupid—he knows he’ll keep bouncing up and down from the taxi squad unless someone gets hurt or ends up on COVID protocol again. The team isn’t going to change its tiers of players unless one of those things happens or he goes on a real, honest to god multi-game tear. He’d like the NHL money to keep coming in all the time, obviously, but he can take it.</p>
<p>Mathias catches him when everyone starts filing out toward the bus. “Givani, wait, hold on a minute.”</p>
<p>Givani glances at everyone filing out the door, then turns back to Mathias. “You okay?”</p>
<p>“Yes, just… I need your help with something, for a minute.” Hronek looks back at them from the doorway, and Mathias waves him on. “We’ll be right out, promise, won’t make you late!”</p>
<p>Hronek mumbles something incomprehensible—Givani loves him and Z, the Czechs are great, but they’re impossible to understand when they get tired—and keeps walking. Givani and Mathias are left alone, at least for a minute until the equipment staff comes in to do a last sweep.</p>
<p>“What’s up?” Givani asks, walking over to where Mathias is still standing by his stall. “What do you need help with?”</p>
<p>Mathias grins sheepishly and catches Givani by the arm, just above his elbow. It’s a shock to feel Mathias’ skin on his—when was the last time he touched somebody just like that, just normal? Punching Ekblad in the face on the ice doesn’t count.</p>
<p>“I don’t need help,” Mathias admits, rubbing his thumb over one of the lines of Givani’s tattoos. “Just, you know. Locker room’s the only place we can get away with no masks for a few minutes, you know? Wanted to grab a minute with you where that’s allowed.”</p>
<p>Givani laughs a little, that warm feeling building up in his chest again fast enough that it might choke him. “Yeah? Why’s that, Bromer?”</p>
<p>Mathias’ hand tightens just a little bit, not enough that Givani couldn’t pull away, more like he’s steadying himself. He leans in, licking his lips, and presses a kiss to the left of Givani’s mouth. Then another, to the right of it.</p>
<p>“Congratulations,” he says quietly, while Givani blinks at him from just an inch or two away. “You did so great.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” It’s Givani’s turn to lick his lips, staring into Mathias’ eyes like he’s hypnotized. “Is there a reason you didn’t kiss me for real, though?”</p>
<p>“Protocol,” Mathias says, so serious that Givani chokes on a laugh. </p>
<p>“Being this close breaks it anyway, man.” Givani closes the gap between them, pressing his mouth to Mathias’ in a careful kiss. They don’t get far—just teasing his tongue against the seam of Mathias’ lips, barely parting them—before the sound of the equipment staff’s footsteps approaching drives them apart again.</p>
<p>Mathias is blushing as he slings his bag over his shoulder and puts on his mask. “Better get to the bus, I think. Don’t want them to send Larks back looking for us.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Givani pulls his own mask on and grabs his bag mid-stride to the door. The rest of the team might notice Mathias blushing, but they’ll blame it on the Florida heat. Nobody will be able to tell that either of them is smiling. Masks are good for <em>one</em> thing, it turns out.</p>
<p>“Last guy on’s a loser,” Merrill says as they climb on the bus. “What were you two dilly-dallying about?”</p>
<p>Mathias bonks Merrill in the head with his bag as he pushes by, and Givani keeps grinning behind his mask. “Taxi bro things. You wouldn’t understand.”</p>
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